


Hunger

by Thatkindoffangirl



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Cock Vore, M/M, Necrophilia, Vore, like actually biting chunks of flesh from the person, one day this will be part of the ocelot's gore masturbation fantasies collection if I ever make one, soft necrophilia if there's such thing as that, this is hard vore apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1997175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindoffangirl/pseuds/Thatkindoffangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The requests takes Snake by surprise. He can barely hear the words over the blood pumping in his ears, and at first he thinks he is mistaken. His whole brain is muddled. Thoughts are there for sure, yet they are all swirling together until their contours blur and none of them can stand on its own anymore. In his eyes there’s only the cut. It’ a red trail, now a chasm open across Ocelot’s stomach, swallowing Snake’s blood-covered hand as they fight to keep the insides from spilling out and fail. Few deaths are worse than a bomb exploding in your stomach, Snake thinks, but watching Ocelot’s teeth in his lips until blood comes rushing out, he wonders whether this might be one of them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for dragunovi@tumblr. Original premise idea by bohemianlynx.  
> Time setting is left intentionally ambigous, but I wrote this thinking of young Ocelot and Snake. Feel free, however, to see them as you prefer.

“Eat me.”

The requests takes Snake by surprise. He can barely hear the words over the blood pumping in his ears, and at first he thinks he is mistaken. His whole brain is muddled. Thoughts are there for sure, yet they are all swirling together until their contours blur and none of them can stand on its own anymore. In his eyes there’s only the cut. It’ a red trail, now a chasm open across Ocelot’s stomach, swallowing Snake’s blood-covered hand as they fight to keep the insides from spilling out and fail. Few deaths are worse than a bomb exploding in your stomach, Snake thinks, but watching Ocelot’s teeth in his lips until blood comes rushing out, he wonders whether this might be one of them.

“John—” Ocelot’s voice startles him again. “I want you to eat me.”

At first, Snake laughs. He has never appreciated Ocelot’s messed-up jokes, still this time he finds himself cackling before he even understands. It’s when Ocelot doesn’t follow suit that he realizes something’s wrong, and only when Ocelot’s hand gently rests on his arm that his nervous smile turns into a gape.

“You can’t be serious.”

It’s Ocelot’s turn to laugh.

“You have eaten worse things before.” He smiles softly. “Haven’t you, John?”

This time the joke is clear, and yet it doesn’t register. If too many thoughts were fighting for Snake’s attention, there is not one left in his brain now. His whole body is limp. His hands rest heavy among Ocelot’s guts. He moves them away, and, as the insides shift around the newly-created void, Ocelot cries in agony.

It’s like a zap along Snake’s back, a cold shower waking him up to reality. “It’s going to hurt,” he says. He pleads, even.

Ocelot’s laugh is weak. If any word was to follow, it dies along with his voice. He leans his head back, resting it against the soft ground, his eyes closed. He frowns, then breathes deeply to gather what strength he has left. When he speaks he sounds barely alive.

“Please.”

Snake’s hands know the movements even as his brain gives him nothing but static. He reaches down, fumbles with Ocelot’s belt, unzips his pants; they slide down easily along his shaking legs glowing white under the light. He has done these actions before, done them over and over again. Yet, this time it’s different. This time they are hollow, mechanical, sacred.

A ritual.

Snake places the first kiss under the cut, filling his nostrils with blood mixed with explosive mixed with the sour smell of Ocelot’s sweat. He retches, but instead of pulling back he closes his eyes and sinks his nose further in the mangled skin. His hair stand on the nape of his neck as adrenaline rushes over his body, and when he moves again his hands are still shivering.

The seconds kiss lands just above the crotch, Ocelot’s hips thrusting forward to meet Snake. He moans in pleasure, and for an instant they are both years younger, their bodies tasting each other for the first time. The memory is happy, and yet it sinks deep in their stomach like a boulder. When the third kiss reaches Ocelot’s inner thigh, the only sound is that of Snake’s lips.

It’s not until Snake slides up again, lips pressing on the soft space between Ocelot’s legs, that any of them speaks:

“John,” Ocelot says, pained arousal in his voice, “that’s not what I wanted.”

Snake doesn’t answer. He brushes his nose along the cleft of Ocelot’s balls, follows the path with his tongue, then runs it flat on the length of the shaft; he indulges briefly on the tip before taking the cock whole in his mouth.

There is not enough blood left in Ocelot for him to get hard, and yet his penis twitches inside Snake’s mouth as it slides against his tongue.

“John,” he says again. “Please, John, I want to be part of y—”

The scream is excruciating, but Snake doesn’t stop. He knows Ocelot enough to hear the arousal in his pain, or at least he hopes he does. Trickles of blood run down the sides of his mouth, the severed length of Ocelot’s cock lying limp between his lips. At first his teeth tingle with the urge to chew it, but then he swallows it whole. The tip pushes on the back of his throat much in the same way as it had done countless times before, and yet this time it goes further down, stretching the walls of his esophagus as it slides down his body, deep in his stomach.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to savour the smell of blood filling his lungs, then he looks down again.

Ocelot is writhing below him, his eyes swelling with pain and exhaustion, his voice rattling in his throat; sweat is glistening on his forehead, and his mouth opens and closes, mouthing words he doesn’t have voice to say. Something in his guts that tells Snake he should wait, that Ocelot is not yet ready to go on, and yet he leans forward without hesitation. He is too hungry to stop. It’s not normal hunger, not the one he has felt in survival training, not even the one he felt in war; it’s a much more visceral one, rising from his stomach as much as from his soul, wrapping around his throat, his mouth, his teeths.

As he takes the second bite, his own cock is pushing hard against his pants.

The taste fills him like nothing before, fills him even before the flesh is torn off the leg. His teeth sink in Ocelot’s skin, the resistance nothing but a challenge to overcome to devour his prey. Ocelot curses as his muscles are ripped, cries as flesh is mangled and swallowed. Snake’s nostrils tingle with the smell of blood again, with the scent of Ocelot’s skin, but there’s only need. Diving in once more, he hears Ocelot moaning alongside his screams, yes and God and fuck mixing together in his ragged cries.

Slowly, it all fades. Maybe the endorphins overcame the pain, or maybe Ocelot doesn’t even have enough strength to hurt anymore. Snake doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to. There is only greed inside him, greed and the muffled sighs and moans that vibrate along his hollow body. As he moves to the other thigh, leaving the half-chewed one behind, he hears even a gulp.

This time, Snake takes it slower.

He brushes his nose against Ocelot’s leg, tracing the light path of hair along his muscles to the soft strip joining it to the red pool of blood where his penis used to be; he licks the contours of the wound, digging his thumb in Ocelot’s muscles as he goes, tasting their firmness with his hands. They are so thin he could crush them in his grasp, and yet they push back strong against his fingers. His mouth waters. He is not as hungry as before, still the pleasure of biting is like heaven itself, and he moans louder that he has ever done as Ocelot uses his last strength to thrust his hips toward his mouth, helping him carve the first dent in his still perfect skin.

“John,” Ocelot breathes as the flesh is ripped once again.

It’s the last time Snake hears him say his name; after that, there’s only the sound of Snake’s bites. He eats until he is full, until there’s no space left in either his stomach or soul.

\He’s not sure when Ocelot dies. All he knows is that he stops moving way before he’s done, and when he rises again his eyes are glazed and unfocused. There is a hint of a smile on his lips, and Snake smiles back without even thinking. He stays there, kneeling between Ocelot legs, admiring his work, looking at the white bones shine against the red of the open muscles. He runs his finger around the contour of the wounds, tasting the bites over and over again as his thumb traces each mark.

Soon, the hunger rises again. It’s not the same as before, not as deep, as heavy or pervasive, and yet it hurts him from within.

He leans forward once more, bridging the distance between his mouth and Ocelot’s; this time. however, he simply kisses him. His lips are cold. They suck the heat out of his, and as he fumbles with his belt, Snake runs his tongue over his mouth to warm his own skin again.

There is a low thud as his pants fall down to his knees and hit the ground. Snake’s hands follow along his thighs, trace their contour up to his own erection, smearing blood all over them in the process. The red on his legs makes it look as half-eaten too, and Snake’s cock jolts harder at the thought. He groans in frustration.

His face is buried deep on Ocelot’s belly as he comes, the vision of his mangled corpse still etched in his brain. Blood, explosive and sweats envelope his nostrils again, but the disgust is gone. He smiles, closing his eyes, allowing himself to float alongside the pleasure in his body.

He is happy.

It’s as his hands caress the soft fullness of his stomach that he corrects himself.

They both are.

  
  



End file.
